Serenade

Far o'er the landscape green, The moonlight like a lake, Lies; 'tis a lovely scene, To bid my lady wake; My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake!

The night is rich with smells, Like thoughts from heart of love, Wafted from flower bells, On unseen wings above; My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake!

The Nightingale, a wo! Within the grove complains!— The stars are coming low To hear her killing strains! My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake!

O see! my lady, far Beyond yon western steeps, The moon, with one white star, In paly parting, weeps: My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake!

Before the envious day, Shall gaze upon thy charms; Come, lady, come away, And rest lock'd in these arms! My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake!

Oh lady, see! the moon Her silver chariot stops, (A list'ning to my tune,) On yonder green oak-tops! My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake!

My song can make her pause, But wake and doff that frown, Nor man's, nor God's great laws, Forbid thee to look down: My lady, lady, wake, Wake, oh! wake.